


Dinner for Two

by JoAsakura



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ghost really wants to tap that idek, Kinktober, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: Look, i was just gonna post this on tumblr, but mobile isn't letting me, so here we are.It was supposed to be a prompt for "Dressup" for kinktober, and it got out of hand. I don't think it's done. Ghost has had a lowkey thing for Doomfist since the character was released and well, here we are.





	Dinner for Two

Ghost sighed and daubed another brushload of “Haint Blue” on the patched plaster wall. He hadn’t asked why Hana was suddenly dabbling in international real estate on top of her other ventures, but renovating a flat off Rue Montorgueil was infinitely better than living out of a car for the remainder of his “Service Leave.”

After Busan, Pharah had reasserted her place in the command structure and grounded him until Mercy and Winston were satisfied that attempting to break down a ten-story Omnic wasn’t a side effect of Sombra’s hack. He’d responded with a truly spectacular number of invectives and she’d shown him the door until such time as he was willing to play nicely with the chain of command.

Having practically been raised by Jack and Gabriel herself, he was amazed she’d thought that would work. He sighed again, loudly, and watched the paint soak into the plaster. (God damn her, she was right. Being taken off duty was driving him insane. Ana had helped him pack, squeezed his arm. “Live a normal life for a while, dear. Be human.” she’d said.)

“Ana, i don’t know HOW to be human!” He shouted at the wall, flinging the paintbrush at it before dissolving into a petulant cloud of ash and oozing back to the lonely, faded orange couch laid out in the middle of the little room. “FUCK.” He shouted again, flopping face first on the ancient velvet.

He lay there, cursing, when the bell rang, and he was on his feet, sidearm spun up in his hand and the barrel in a wide-eyed courier’s face before he even knew what was happening.

[You need to sign for this.] She stammered out, shoving the digital clipboard at him, and Ghost dissolved the gun, taking it from her.

[Sorry. I’ve had a little problem with feral squirrels.] He said weakly, scrawling his signature on the lightpad.

He didn’t blame her for just dropping the box and running.

~~~

It was large, and heavy. His name and address written in a precise, elegant hand across the brown wrapping paper and he shook it. When the contents shifted softly within, he scowled and let his vision shift to the tactical scanners Jack’s visor had left him with.

Wool. Silk. Elastane. Leather. Paper. Gold.

“What the fuck?” He said out loud, pulling a knife out of coil of ash and setting the box on his lone piece of furniture.

Layers of crisp tissue separated garments that Gabriel’s whispers in the back of his brain indicated cost more than Jack’s first car.

A deep wine set of fine wool trousers, chalk-striped in cream, and a checked vest, cream with that same dark red and a touch of charcoal. The silk shirt was a complementary lighter shade of red, and the tie, thick silk twill in a small intricate pattern that picked up everything, along with touches of gold. Socks, even.

“What. The. Fuck.” Ghost repeated, pulling out gleaming black shoes that made his battered combat boots almost cringe in comparative shame.

He unwrapped another, small bundle of paper, and one eyebrow inched up. Scant silk and lace, not quite wholly feminine, but still the most fragile set of briefs he could imagine seeing. He ran his thumb over the satiny fabric and felt a surprising twinge in his groin. He didn’t feel like diving into their memories to figure out which one had the lingerie fetish.

Finally, Ghost took the last of the tissue out and at the bottom of the box was a card. Thick heavy paper and that same precise handwriting.

"Le Jules Verne  
8 pm  
Akande"

Ghost blinked and almost dropped the box. "What. The. FUCK?!"

~~~

-The most expensive restaurant in Paris, 8pm-

Ghost scowled up at the Eiffel Tower, the evening crowds milling past.

He tugged irritably at his tie and stepped up the stairs, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. The maitre'd bowed at the door and ghost froze.

The restaurant was empty save for the internationally known criminal genius named “Doomfist” sitting at a table overlooking the twilight glow of Paris.

"Ghost." He said, standing. His suit was deep blue, the same shade as the evening sky, and the white linen shirt and gold silk of his tie lit the dark curve of his jaw. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"You bought out the whole restaurant on the hope a member of Overwatch would have dinner with a powerful member of Talon?" Ghost quirked an eyebrow as he let Akande push in his chair. He pulled off his sunglasses so the other man could see the full, inhuman glare of red.

"A calculated risk. I thought it prudent for us to be able to speak without interference." He smiled as the first course came out and the wine flowed.

"You know every part of me wants to punch you right through that window." Ghost tucked a pearly white curl behind his ear as he poked at the foie gras.

"I respected both of your fathers immensely." Akande laughed, biting down on a bit of brioche. "And you, Overwatch grounding the truest example of life improving through conflict. Fools."

Ghost shoved a bit in his mouth. "I had some issues." He muttered. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

"I have sources. And issues? Please." Akande snorted. "You're an abomination and you are a god in a way that those tiny minds can't comprehend." He paused. "You're fascinating. Beautiful. And, if I might, you fill out that suit perfectly."

"Do I want to know how you got my measurements?" Ghost glanced down at the wine.

"I have sources." Akande chuckled.

Ghost took a swig of wine. "Look. I'm not coming to work for you." He said, wondering why his face felt hot. Jack had entertained more than a few fantasies about the man across from him from when they'd clashed. And Gabriel’s emotions were heady mix of dislike and respect.

Ghost felt all of it crashing together in an uncomfortable mix in his nonexistent guts.

"Not many people call me beautiful." He blurted out, shifting in the expensive suit and the silken garments beneath them. "People tend to instinctively sense when someone isn't quite one of them. You know, the whole uncanny valley thing, it’s where I live.”

"People are, on the whole, fools." Akande lifted his glass in a toast.

Ghost pushed away from the table and prowled over to the bigger man. Even sitting, the talon operative positively dwarfed him and Ghost felt the warring thrill ripple down his spine. "What do you want from me, Akande?" He asked, coils of ashy smoke drifting around him, devouring the medallions of beef on the elegant white plates. "This is the wrong place for a fight scene and we both know it."

"I've seen you in combat. In armour you build from your own self. How you simmer with rage beneath that befuddled little look you give. I wanted to see you softer, I suppose. I doubt you ever learned to do that. To enjoy things like that." One hand reached for the end of Ghost's tie, rubbing the silk between his fingers. "Jack and Gabriel were never built for softness. I wondered if you were the same."

Ghost could hear the hum of the doomfist augments under his skin, a delicious buzz, and he took another step closer. "As I mentioned, every single instinct I have is to beat the shit out of you, you know. Does that answer your question?”

"That's what makes this so rewarding." Akande chuckled, his hands coming to rest on Ghost's hips. He gave only the slightest pressure but Ghost let him draw him in, and he straddled Akande on the narrow chair.

"You're so much warmer than I expected. Nanocyte waste heat?" The talon agent murmured. Soft music still piped from speakers overhead, but Ghost could only catch the staff on the edges of his tactical awareness suite. Clearly they'd been coached for this possibility and he bristled at the thought.

"You expected though, for me to be on your lap?" Ghost leaned back to look Akande in the eye. The response came in the form of one big hand sliding up his back, skin rasping on satin, to cup his head.

"A calculated guess." He said with a sly grin and pulled Ghost in for a kiss. His other hand slid down, kneading Ghost's rear as the younger man dug his fingers into Akande's shoulders, hips doing a slow grind as they kissed in ferocious bursts.

His body might have been compromised of interlocking nanites, but his reaction protocols were driven by as human a desire as anyone's and Ghost whined softly into Akandes kisses.

"Are you wearing all of what I sent you?" He whispered against Ghost's ear and bit down lightly when the other man nodded.

His hand drifted under the waistband of Ghost's trousers and along the lace edging beneath.

The silk and lace, the soft wool of the trousers, and the warmth of Akande's synthetic skin against his own was delightful and Ghost rolled his hips to feel more.

Swiftly, Akande stood and brought Ghost with him, letting the younger man wrap his legs around his waist. "Will you extend our temporary truce to my hotel room or shall I see how you look right here?"

Ghost clambered off him, looking as dignified as he could with his clothes askew and his hair sticking up in every direction. "They've been traumatized enough. Let's finish our conversation somewhere a little more private."  



End file.
